Growing Up
by Laughing
Summary: A patchwork quilt of scenes from Cal and Niko's life as they grow up. Content will vary, so I'm sticking a 'T' rating on this just to be safe.
1. Favorite

Hey everybody! In honor of our brand new category, I wrote a story! Applause Yes, yes, thank you, thank you. Haha, just kidding. Actually, I have quite a few little scenes on my hard drive that, by themselves, don't exactly make for good oneshots. However, I had this idea that if I strung them all together as a sort of collage of glimpses of Niko's and Cal's everyday lives, then that might be a fun little story, so that's what I'm going to do. So here is the first installment. It's set about the same time as 'Enough' was--Cal's five or six, and Nik's like ten-ish. I hope you like it!

* * *

"_SHUT UP!_" Sophia screamed. My eardrums rang and my face stung where she'd slapped me, as if her yell had needed enunciation. "And get out!" she added, like it was an afterthought.

Niko quickly picked me up and carried me out the door. Apparently he didn't trust my legs to move fast enough, so he quite literally took matters into his own hands. He held me tightly, but not in a completely nice way. He was mad at me, I thought, but I couldn't blame him. Earlier, when he'd come to pick me up from school, I hadn't been at the spot that I was supposed to be. There was a tree just outside the door, and Niko always made me wait for him there, but today I'd forgotten and had stayed on the playground with my friend Charlie. Charlie was the only one who didn't laugh at my name when the teacher called role, and I didn't laugh at him for having glasses, so we were friends. But I didn't notice when the bell rang, and so I wasn't at the tree when Niko got there, and so he got mad. He kept lecturing me about how I had to be where I said I would be, and I had gotten mad too, and I started yelling, and that was when Sophia came in. We hadn't known that she was at home.

As I was thinking about this, I realized how mad Niko must be at me. Niko was really nice, and he never yelled or hit me like Sophia did, but I was always more upset when I made him angry than when I made Sophia angry. I peeked up at Niko, and saw that his face was set, and he was frowning, and I thought that he would be a lot happier if he would have just left me with Sophia. I tried to stop them, but tears started to well up in my eyes. I didn't deserve Niko, I knew, and he probably didn't even like me anymore because I'd let him down and had yelled at him.

I began to cry more now, and that made me even sadder because Niko was so tough and never cried, and here I was, acting like a baby right in front of him. When I started making noises, Niko looked down at me for the first time. He looked surprised, and stopped walking. Sitting me down on the edge of a short brick wall that went around a rich person's lawn, he stood in front of me and looked at me. I rubbed at my face, but more tears just kept coming, and I just couldn't stop them. I knew I was being a crybaby and a wuss, and in front of my big brother, too, but I couldn't help it.

"What's wrong, Cal?" Niko asked, sounding worried. "Are you hurt?"

Miserably, I shook my head 'no'.

"Well then what's wrong?" He was being nice, I realized, and that made me feel even worse.

I tried to speak, but the waterworks had gotten out of control, and I couldn't.

"Cal…" Niko said softly, beginning to sound sad himself. And he did what he always did when I cried: he put his arms around me and hugged me. "Just try to take a deep breath," he murmured.

Because I was hoping that maybe since Niko was hugging me that he still liked me some, I tried to do what he said and breathed in.

"That's good," he whispered. "Can you do it again?"

I did, and a few more times after that, until I could breathe normally again. My crying died down, and the tears stopped for the most part.

"There you go. That's a good boy," Niko said, pulling back and wiping my face with his fingers.

I shook my head. " 'm not a good boy," I mumbled.

"I think you are." Niko pulled himself up onto the ledge next to me. "Do you want to tell me what's wrong?"

"You were mad at me." That was all the reason I needed to be upset.

"No, I wasn't. I've never been mad at you, Cal," he said, looking me straight in the eyes so I'd know that he meant it.

"But I'm bad," I said, looking down.

"Who told you that?" Niko lifted my chin back up.

"Sophia," I admitted.

Niko's face got hard again, and I wondered if maybe it did that when he was mad at Sophia, not me. "She was lying," he said after a few seconds. "You are _not_ bad."

"But I did a bad thing today," I insisted. "Because Charlie found a snake in a hole and wanted to show me, so we went to look at it, and we were taking turns poking it with sticks, so I wasn't at the tree like I was s'posed to be."

"Well, you're right that you shouldn't have done that. You could have gotten hurt, provoking a snake like that. And I didn't know where you were, so I wouldn't have been able to come help you if it had bitten you."

"Oh," I said, feeling sad again.

"That's why it's important that you always tell me where you're going to be. Do you understand?"

I nodded, staring at my lap even though Niko was saying everything nice, and wasn't being mean like the teachers or Sophia.

"Cal?" Niko prodded, making me look up at him. "Next time Charlie asks you to do something after school, you'll come find me and tell me first?" I bobbed my head up and down enthusiastically. "_Promise_?" He was teasing now, but I nodded again. "Okay, then."

"Okay," I agreed.

"Is your face alright, where she hit you?" Niko eyed me closely, as if trying to detect any hidden injuries under the skin.

"I'm fine," I said, even though it still smarted a little. I had to keep _some_ dignity around here, after all.

"That's good," he said, then ruffled my hair fondly. "You're my favorite person in the whole world, Cal Leandros."

"I am?" I searched his face to see if he was joking.

"You are." He wasn't teasing me.

"Then you're mine, too," I decided, because he was.


	2. Braids

Just for fun, and because I couldn't get the picture out of my head...

* * *

Slamming the door of the taxi, I stormed up the stairs of my building and into our apartment. I slammed that door too, causing Niko to look up from the sword that he was meticulously cleaning.

"Did you get up on the wrong side of the bed again?" he asked, resuming his polishing.

I didn't answer as I flopped down on the couch next to him.

"You probably shouldn't do that when the person you're sitting next to has a ten-inch sword in his hand," Niko commented, setting said sword down on the coffee table. He turned to look at me. "Is something wrong?"

I scowled. "I don't want to talk about it."

Niko's gaze lingered on me for a second longer, then flicked back to the sword he was picking up again. "That's fine," he said, handing me his katana. "You can clean this instead."

By 'clean', he didn't mean that I should wipe it down a few times to get the fingerprints off. He meant that I should spend an hour tediously scrubbing each inch of his precious knife, and then another hour polishing it until it sparkled. The katana was his favorite, which meant it got special treatment, and he normally didn't let me touch it. This wasn't a privilege, however, because the consequences would be dire if my cleaning wasn't to his satisfaction. It was more of a dare, really, than a privilege.

I sighed, but took the weapon and a rag and began to work. Nik had this special mixture that was great for getting off blood residue, but it smelled awful. It was yellow and thick and I didn't know if he bought it or made it or what, but we always had some. I worked with the stuff for about twenty minutes before I set down the katana. Niko had never meant for me to actually finish the job—he knew that I'd break and just talk to him to get out of the chore.

"I have to learn how to braid," I finally said.

That caught his attention. "Excuse me?"

"Joe, or whatever his name is, at the bar, said that my hair was too long, and that I either had to cut it or keep it back in a braid," I said glumly.

"And you don't know how."

"Right."

A pause. "_How_ do you not know how?" Niko asked.

"It's not exactly one of the core subjects in school. Why should I know how?"

"You've only seen me do it a thousand times," Niko said, gesturing to the braid he currently had his hair in.

"Well, I didn't pay attention."

"Surprise, surprise," he said with the briefest roll of his eyes. "Here, watch." He set down his weapons and cleaning supplies, then ran a deft finger through his braid, undoing it. Swinging his hair over his shoulder, he slowly began to re-braid it. "You separate the hair into three sections, like this." He glanced up to be sure I was paying attention, and I was.

"Okay," I said, nodding.

"Then you take either the right section or the left section, it doesn't matter which, but I'm going to use the right one, and you bring it over the middle section, so that it is now the new middle. Understand?"

He was using his teaching voice, and I was concentrating hard not to tune it out, as was my natural instinct. "I think so," I said.

"Alright, so now you take the left section, and bring it over the middle section, making _it_ the new middle, and then you start over." Niko demonstrated as he spoke, and I watched as he finished the braid.

"Hmm," was all I could say once he was done.

"I know that tone too well," Niko commented. "Here, now you try." He undid his braid again, and turned around so that his back was facing me.

I reached out to take his hair, gathering it in a loose ponytail with my hand. "I feel like a girl," I said sullenly as I separated my brother's hair into three sections.

"I'll be happy to shave your head if you think yourself too much of a man to have kempt hair."

My hand automatically shot up to my head to protect my hair. "Thanks," I said dryly.

"Then stop complaining. Now, take the right section and bring it over," he instructed.

I did so, but my efforts were met with a grunt of disapproval.

"It needs to be tighter than that," Niko sighed. "Try again."

I brought the hair back into its original positions, and this time I pulled the right section over the middle one as tightly as I could.

"There's no need to yank, Cal," Niko said in a steely voice.

"Sorry," I muttered, pulling the left section over the middle.

"Alright, now do it again."

And so it went, me braiding my big brother's hair while said big brother evaluated my performance. He made me do it five times before he was satisfied with it.

"This one is good, Cal," Niko said, running his fingers over the braid. "The sections are still a little uneven, but it's a definite improvement."

"Gee thanks, Cyrano," I said, admiring my handiwork.

"Now braid your own." Niko picked up the abandoned katana and resumed cleaning it.

"Kay…"

This proved to be a bit more difficult since I couldn't see what I was doing, but Niko's cheerful encouragement kept me going. The room was filled with a barrage of "Tighter Cal,", "The object is to _braid_ your hair, not knot it,", and other variations until I finally got it right.

I turned around for Niko's appraisal. "How's that?" I asked for what must have been the twentieth time.

Niko set down his weapon and fingered the braid. "Good, actually. But to be sure that this isn't a fluke…" he tugged hard on one of the loops of the braid, pulling it out, "do it again."

* * *

By the way, these little snapshots are in no particular order, other than the order that I finish them as they pop into my head.

Let me know what you thought!


	3. Early Morning Jog

I was asleep. Completely, blissfully asleep. I wasn't dreaming or snoring, just…asleep. Black. Darkness. Quiet. Sil—

Sunlight. Burning, bright, red sunlight. I could kill Niko. I really could. And I would. Just as soon as I had about four more hours of sleep, and then woke up again. With that thought, I rolled over onto my stomach, burying my face in the pillow to block the sunshine.

"Cal," came his annoyingly loud voice, cutting through my dazed state of not-quite-asleep-yet-not-quite-awake.

I grunted in reply and burrowed deeper into the pillow. I shivered a little, and wondered vaguely where my blanket had gotten to. Niko had probably whipped it off, being the damn annoying brother that he was.

"Cal." This time, his voice was louder and sharper.

I'd succeeded in annoying him even before I'd fully woken. A new record. Well, hardly, since it happened on pretty much a daily basis, but I was still pleased with myself.

"Wake up," he ordered.

I did not.

"_Cal_," he said again, this time accentuating it with a sharp pain directly on my ass.

"What the hell?" I mumbled blearily, blinking and looking over my shoulder at him. He was wielding a wooden kitchen spoon, and had apparently just smacked me with it.

"Get up," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Niko was quite the hard ass in the mornings, probably from years of experience telling him that a gentle shake and turning on the lights wasn't going to wake me up. He'd gotten the '_Wake Up Cal In Under One Minute'_ routine down pat, and was currently working to cut his time in half.

Scowling, I stretched and rose to a sitting position. I wanted to call him a name, but my vocabulary hadn't quite kicked in yet. I needed coffee.

Shoving at Niko to move out of my way, I stumbled out of my room and into the kitchen.

"Where's the damn coffee?" I demanded, my words slurring a bit from sleep.

"If you want to fill your body with that caffeinated refuse, you can make it yourself," was Niko's reply. He sure wasn't having any trouble with _his_ vocabulary, now was he? Caffeinated refuse. Christ.

I clumsily poured the water into the coffee pot and the grounds into the filter. Ignoring the mess, I popped a pinch of the coffee grounds into my mouth. Anything to wake myself up.

I swallowed and glanced at the clock. 4:30 AM. "_Niko_," I whined, dragging the word out. "Why, oh why, do you insist on getting me up so damn early? And why do you have a friggin' wooden spoon?"

Niko lifted a predatory eyebrow. "I was making breakfast before I came in to drag your lazy ass out of bed."

I frowned, popping some more coffee grounds into my mouth. Niko grimaced in distaste. "Last I checked, making Pop Tarts didn't require using a wooden spoon."

The glare that Niko sent me told me that he'd like to smack me with said spoon again just for the _suggestion_ of having a godforsaken Pop Tart for breakfast. He pointed over at the table, where there were two plates of fluffy scrambled eggs. He'd even put cheese on mine. That made me want to kill him a little less.

I got out a coffee cup and glass from the cabinet, filling the first with steaming 'caffeinated refuse', and the second with Niko's current favorite—orange grapefruit juice. I set them down by our respective plates and slumped into my chair. "Again," I said after a few bites, "why are we up so early?"

Niko raised an eyebrow. "You don't remember?"

"Obviously not."

"You couldn't keep the pace yesterday, and I was late for an appointment, so we decided that we'd start earlier so as to prevent that from happening again. Ring any bells?"

I groaned. "I hate you."

Niko's lips tightened, and I figured that probably hadn't been the best thing to say.

"I dislike you at the moment," I amended, thinking back to my childhood when Niko would insist that I didn't really hate him because he wouldn't let me have a cookie, but that I only 'disliked him at the moment'. That hate was such a strong word that it shouldn't be used lightly, over something so materialistic as a cookie.

The corners of Niko's lips lifted up at that, and he gave what could be taken as a chuckle. "I can't believe you remember that. I haven't heard you say that in…probably ten years."

I shrugged. "It was a good rule. I don't actually hate you, so I shouldn't say so," I recited from memory. "Right, Cyrano?"

Niko nodded, amusement still apparent in his eyes. "Come on. We'd better start."

I groaned again, but held my tongue and set the dishes in the sink. I didn't bother changing out of the thin sweats and t-shirt that I'd slept in. I just pulled on my Reeboks and followed Nik out the door.

Nik dragged me down the stairs and we ran all the way to Washington Square Park. Niko liked to call these jaunts 'jogging', but they weren't, because we never jogged. We always ran. Maybe this was Niko's mega man idea of jogging, but I sure as hell wasn't buying it.


	4. Rites of Passage

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A/N: This chapter is a conglomerate of attempts to complete the Tumulus monthly writing challenges on time, which is why unusual words like 'brindled' and 'bobblehead' are thrown in there. I didn't make the deadlines with this chapter, but I have finished it, so here it is!

* * *

I felt a small smile tug its way onto my lips as I looked into the bedroom. Cal, all of fourteen years old today, was sprawled across the mattress, snoring in contentment.

"Cal," I said, an exercise in futility.

No response.

"Ca—al," I drew the words out, moving toward the bed. I sat beside my little brother, who was getting to be not so little anymore, and grasped his shoulder. "Time to wake up, birthday boy."

Without looking up or opening his eyes, Cal's head shook back and forth, the perfect imitation of a still sleepy bobblehead.

Narrowing my eyes, I shook him again, once more to no avail. On most mornings I wasted little time in getting him up, but today I took the opportunity to get a good look at him. I knew that he wasn't my son, and I didn't think of him that way, but I did feel some pride in the way he was growing up. I'd watched him take his first steps, ride his first (borrowed) bike, attend his first day of kindergarten, and today I'd watch him meet another rite of passage. I moved my hand from his shoulder to his cheek to feel if there was anything more than peach fuzz for me to teach him to shave off. There was, a little, or at least enough of a hint of something that he probably wouldn't laugh at me for suggesting it.

Cal's hand reached up to slap mine away. "Are you _petting_ me?" he asked, his voice muffled a little by the pillow it was half-burrowed in. "I know you're sentimental, Nik, but I'm not a damned Labrador." He extended the effort to lift his head to look up at me.

I suppressed the amusement I felt at the sight of his face, flushed from sleep with lines from the blanket imprinted across his chin and forehead. "No, of course not. You're more of the brindled bulldog type."

Cal scowled and opened his mouth to reply, but then stopped, remembering something. His face lit up. "Hey—it's my birthday today."

"Is it? I'd forgotten."

A grin that was becoming rarer and rarer these days spread across his face. "No, you didn't. That was why you were petting me."

I raised an eyebrow. "Is that some sort of birthday tradition that I'm unaware of?"

Cal just grinned wider and threw off his blankets. He jumped out of bed with more enthusiasm than he usually had in the mornings and made his way to the bathroom. I followed him and leaned against the doorway as he stood before the mirror.

"Do I look older?" he asked, turning his gaze from the glass to me.

I nodded. "Definitely. We'll have to invest in some cold cream to keep you from getting wrinkles."

Cal rolled his eyes. "Nik, what if I have to take a piss or something? You just feel like watching me today?"

Oh, yes. Now that he was awake, the snark was definitely setting in. Well, that could be taken care of. I moved into the bathroom, swatting the back of the birthday boy's head as I passed him.

"Hey! That's illegal on my birthday," Cal complained, rubbing the spot.

I ignored him, opening the cabinet above the sink to pull out my razor and shaving cream. The variety of things sold at dollar stores always did surprise me. "Here," I said, handing him both items.

Cal took them and considered them for a moment before looking up at me. "I'm not really sure how," he said.

He'd seen me shave dozens of times, so I suspected that his ignorance was purely for my benefit. After all, if he didn't need help, then I didn't have an excuse for watching him, and, for reasons that I'd stopped wondering about long ago, I felt a need to witness every milestone in Cal's life.

"Fill the sink with water," I instructed, "and then spread the shaving cream from about here," I indicated a spot on my face, "to here."

Cal did so, careful to get the cream evenly spread across his face. Picking up my blue, four blade, dollar store razor, he sent me a look that said, 'I know you want to take a picture, but try to control your estrogen for about two seconds here and just let me do this'. Satisfied that I'd received his message, he brought the razor to his face and pulled it slowly down his cheek. I pulled myself onto the bathroom counter beside the sink and tried not to think about how this meant that Cal would be finished with puberty soon and would grow into his body and, before I knew it, he wouldn't be a kid anymore and wouldn't need me to tell him what to do.

Cal had been staring intently into the mirror, determined not to cut himself, but he felt my gaze on him and he met my eyes. He opened his mouth to make what, I'm sure, would have been a smart ass comment, so I spoke instead to cut him off.

"We can buy you your own next week," I said.

Cal's eyes narrowed at my evasion, but he nodded. "Okay. Can I use yours until then?"

I smiled at that. "You probably won't need to shave again for a month, but sure, in the event of steroid use or some other sudden burst of testosterone, you can use mine."

Cal scowled. "You just wait. I'm going to have a full beard by next week."

I nodded. "I'm sure you will."

I should have moved the instant I saw his eyes light up in idea, but I really didn't think that he would dare to dip his hand into the shaving cream and water mixture and splash it at me. Of course, I was both bigger and faster than Cal, and I was quick to retaliate.

In the end, Cal ended up with more shaving cream on him than shaved off of him, and I made him take a shower before giving him the single chocolate cupcake I'd bought from the bakery across town. We spent the rest of the day out of the house, away from Sophia, and every time Cal rubbed a hand across his now-smooth jaw, I smiled. It was summer, and it was warm, but windy enough to not be hot, and the sun seemed to chase away all fears of Cal growing up, and me leaving him for college, which would have to happen all too soon. I didn't think about that, though. Not today.


End file.
